Isle de Ometepe - Nicraguara

Now three strong, Mike, Judith, myself, we did a hope skip and a jump down to the next tourist destionation along Nicaragua's Western streach between Lake Nicoragua and the Pasific, Isle de Ometepe, Nicaragua. We were feeling good about life and enjoying the boat ride over when I heard a familar voice that made the hair on the back of my head stand up. Jane had decided to tag along and was now joining us on the sundeck. I went back inside.

Omotepe is billed as a more rustic and way to expierence true Nicaruagan culture, the small villages scatered between at the bases of the two volcanos that make up the majority of the island offer basic accomodations and little in the way of a social scene. Nontheless, we made our way to the base of Volcan Madera following the Lying Planet´s suggestion to stay at Finca Magdalena -Jane decided to stay there too, brillant- a old farm house turned Hostel set at the base of the Volcano and make the easy day hike to the top of the volcano in the morining. It was at this point that I decided never to take the Planet siriously again.

First the Finca. I have noticed that in many cases, the hostels that are listed as being the best in the planet usually turn out to be the worst. I think this is so because, after getting into ´the book,´these places don´t need to worry about reputation or word of mouth to get a steady stream of buisness. So they kick back, now on easy street (relatively) knowing that no matter what they do, or don´t do, they will always have there rooms filled. Such was the case with the Finca, which offered millitary style cots in misquito friendly open-air storage rooms, and abismal serfice without a smile. The food, written up to be cheap and great, was anything but. I´m not sure if it was a joke, but the cooks somehow managed to undercook the beans, and overcook the rise. Did ya get that, they couldn´t even cook beans and rice, I won´t even talk about the meat or moldy bread. On top of that, they shut down the resturant at 7pm and the bar at 9, though they decided to close it at 8:15 on this particular night. To pass the time, and aviode Jane, who was confessing to the rest of the group that she had once taken three shots and not felt drunk, Mike and I were schooled in the card game ´doublehead´ by two German girls who had joined out group. Finally at 10pm for lack of anything else to do we went to bed, content to get a good night´s rest for the Volcano in the morning.

We met our guides after a horrible breakfast at the Finca and walked to the trailhead, a couple hundred meters behind the hostel. From there it was a 5km hike to the summit where the Planet told us we would be rewarded with a beautiful crater lake and a refeshing swim. Somehow, we knew that this would not be the case. The assent, ususally the easy part for me, was muy pelegroso (very dangerous). You followed a broken trail through the tropical foothills to the steeps of the volcano. From there you have to use trees and rocks to scale up the absurdly muddy path as it zig zaged its way up to the summit. This was particulary hazardous for me, who ruptured a disk only six months before, and every slip or unbalaned step threatened to tweek my back. I am not much of a quiter, but I seriously thought about throwing in the towel on this one.

Then, we made it to the summit, we were ready for our pictoureque lagoon, but, as Mike describes, ¨what we got was a muddy pond, partially obscured by mist and were banned from swimming because of the sulphur content.¨ So, after a breif rest and a quick bite, we were ready to head back down. Again Mike puts it best when he writes, ¨ with all of the visitors up and down it, plus the rain, albeit not much, the trail had become a rather dangerous, very unpleasant mudslide. This coupled with the fact that our guide ran off at speed, leaving us all behind, leaving me to speculate on the differences of meaning in the word guide, as I thought it meant to show someone something, in this case the way out and that that was what I had paid for.¨

And believe it or not he was one of the better ones.

It was worse for me, while my back had been the issue on the way up, now my knees (also an old Lacrosse injury) where begining to give out. I couldn´t control myself as I slipped down the muddy, almost stream like, trail falling several times. All around me people were slipping and falling as well, being carried off down the trail in the stream. Think of the mudslide scene with Micheal Douglas and Kathline Turnner in Romancing the Stone. The guides, who were nice enough to check in on us from time, would simply bystepped the people on the ground and kept walking down the trail.

The end couldn´t come fast enough, and back at the Finca we all sat in exhuasted silance, stunned by what we had just done to oursleves. Even the light-heated Judith, who relishes this type of adventure, said, ¨well, that was not so good.¨ Having had enough of Ometepe´s ´rustic ambiance,´ we hightailed it back to the main town and took a ferry out the next day. Judith was on to San Jose, Costa Rica, Mike and I decieded to give Nicaragua one last go and headed off to the Pasific beach town of San Juan Del Sur, where we hoped to find a lively palce to celibrate Christmas by the sea.